


The Long Way Home

by Goldy, thirty2flavors



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, F/M, Melodrama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirty2flavors/pseuds/thirty2flavors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing the Doctor, Rose sets off to find him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think it is safe to say that we are both committed to Ten II and Rose having their happily ever after despite what the pairing information might indicate, so without giving too much away, this fic is a little bit more complicated than your usual "Ten II dies of metacrisis so Rose can be reunited with the Time Lord Doctor" plot.

The Doctor slammed the door shut behind him and pressed his sonic screwdriver to the lock, using the back of his free hand to wipe an irritating trickle of sweat from his forehead. Ignoring the persistent pain radiating from his left ankle, he spun around, his eyes sweeping over the room. It was small, filled with electronics, and the air was stiflingly warm and dry. As engine control rooms went, he’d seen nicer ones. He strode to the nearest control board and stared at it long and hard, doing his best to ignore the rapid, panicked rhythm his own heartbeat.

“Come on, come _on_ ,” he hissed to himself between gritted teeth. “Think, think, think.” He tapped his forehead with the heel of his hand, willing himself to come up with a better solution. “Kordhum technology, there’s got to be something.” He looked back towards the door, frowning. Decompressing the engines would give him exactly twenty-six seconds to make it back to the transmat and off the ship. How long had it taken him to get here? Fifty seconds? A minute? Maybe if he ran—

Without warning the ship lurched violently, pitching the Doctor across the room. His weak ankle made one last definitive ‘pop!’ before it gave out beneath him, and with a string of very creative Gallifreyan curse words, the Doctor fell backwards into a Kordhum computer tower. Rubbing the back of his head where it had slammed into the wall, he stared at his foot, morbidly fascinated by the strange angle with which it stuck out from his leg.

“Right,” he said aloud, swallowing around the dryness in his throat. “Maybe not so much with the running, then.”

He tried not to notice how very frightened that made him.

Groaning, he rolled over and shoved himself onto his knees. He tried to pull himself up onto one leg but slipped, and for a brief defeated second he sat still, staring up, his chest heaving with exhaustion and pain and fear.

Just behind the second computer tower, there was a window out of which he could see a tiny smidgen of the blue that was Earth. It had been a long time since he’d seen the Earth from its orbit, and in another scenario he might have been grateful for the opportunity. There was something unusually serene about watching a planet from its orbit; from here it was impossible for him to see the absolute chaos on the planet’s surface.

Rose was down there, he thought. Rose was down there fighting.

He closed his eyes, trying to quell a wave of terrified nausea. He heaved himself up again, leaning heavily against the computer. He put all his weight on his right leg and grit his teeth, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain in his other leg. Rose was still down there, he reminded himself. Rose was still in danger.

He had to stop this.

Shoving his screwdriver into his pocket, the Doctor fished around for his mobile. He flipped it open and stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keypad. It was a good thirty seconds before his hand stopped shaking long enough for him to speed dial Rose.

Then he took a deep breath, swallowed, and put the phone to his ear.

“Rose?”

“Doctor?” He could hear the immediate relief in her voice, cutting through her adrenaline and fear. “Oh my God, where are you? Steven said one second you were there, and then—”

The Doctor drew in a breath through his teeth, shifting his weight. He had to be quick. If he waited too long, he'd lose his nerve. "Rose, listen—”

"You sound like you're hurt," said Rose, ever-perceptive. "Are you all right? How’s your ankle? Do you need—”

He cut her off. “Rose, I’ve figured it out. They’re Kordhums.”

From the other end of the line, Rose gave a nervous, empty laugh. “Oh, right. Kordhums, yeah, should’ve known.” She drew in a shaky breath. “How do you stop Kordhums?”

“The ship.” He paused to swallow, looking at the computer in front of him and doing his best to imagine it was Rose. “You’ve got to take out the ship. Those droids you’re fighting, that’s where they’re getting their orders from. Take that out and they're done.”

“The ship,” she repeated. “Okay.” She paused, and he imagined her biting her lip and furrowing her brow in thought. “Should I call UNIT, then? They haven’t been able to do much so far, but maybe—”

“No. Kordhum shield technology is too strong, Earth’s weapons aren’t powerful enough, not yet, not even Torchwood’s.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well…” He shoved himself away from the computer he was leaning against, propelling himself forward a foot or so before he reached out for the wall again. “Funny thing about Kordhum technology, from an internal perspective it’s none too foolproof. If you decompress the engines on a Kordhum ship, the whole thing goes 'bang' in under thirty seconds.” He laughed, and even to his own ears it sounded faintly hysterical. “Imagine that! Less than a minute! That’s incredible, that is.” He swallowed hard, distantly aware that his vision had gone blurry. “I mean, that’s probably not even long enough to make it to the transmat. Certainly not on a broken ankle.”

There was a long silence from Rose’s end of the line. When she spoke again, her voice was trembling. “Doctor, where are you?”

The Doctor said nothing; instead he swallowed around the burn in the back of his throat.

“Doctor, tell me where you are. Doctor?” Rose was panicked now. “Doctor, please, _tell me where you are_.”

The Doctor closed his eyes, trying to picture her three days ago in their flat, smiling and happy and safe. “I love you,” he whispered.

“No,” she said instantly, and he could hear the tears in her voice. “Don’t you dare, Doctor, do you hear me?” She was yelling, now, her voice painfully loud over the speaker of the phone. “DOCTOR, DON’T YOU _DARE_ —”

The Doctor opened his eyes, staring bleakly at the machine across from him through the haze of his tears. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. His voice cracked, and for a split second on the other end of the line Rose went silent. “Goodbye, Rose.”

And then he snapped the phone shut and tossed it to the ground, dragging himself towards the engine control board. Smiling and happy and safe, he thought. At least he could give her one of those three.

***

Rose Tyler sat on her mother’s sofa, her knees drawn up beside her, a bowl of soggy cereal in her lap. The television was advertising some new multi-purpose kitchen appliance—restaurant-quality nachos in under 30 seconds!—and Rose stared at the television without really seeing it.

 _Less than thirty seconds_ , she thought. She closed her eyes and swallowed, jabbing at the remote to change the channel. A news program popped up on the screen, the reporter staring seriously at the camera.

"—and after the recent attacks on British soil, the President has issued a statement regarding Britain's—"

Rose flicked off the television and flung the remote to the far end of the sofa, scowling. She set her uneaten bowl of cereal on the coffee table and sank down, rubbing her face with her hands.

Only a few weeks later, talk of the Kordhum invasion was everywhere, in every branch of news media. It was the largest-scale alien invasion this Earth had seen yet, and the fact that only Torchwood had a full understanding of what had happened wasn’t helping matters. As far as the rest of the world knew, the robot invasion ended as abruptly as it began, with each and every one of the robots dropping dead at once. One second the droids had been devastating the human opposition; the next, they were deactivated heaps of metal on the ground. There was speculation all across the world as to what had ended it so suddenly, dozens of theories cropping up with varying degrees of credibility.

Rose wondered if it would feel any better if the world knew the truth. Sometimes she wanted to scream at them, wanted _everyone_ to know that their safety had cost her the man she loved. It was bitter and petty and childish, but sometimes Rose resented the whole world for daring to be more important to the Doctor than their own personal happiness.

She bit her lip and opened her eyes, staring at her mother's ceiling. She'd been hiding in the mansion ever since the funeral, eager to escape media recognition as "the mourning Vitex heiress." It reminded her strongly of her first few weeks in this world, before Bad Wolf Bay, grieving for the Doctor while stubbornly refusing to make a place for herself in this universe. She remembered thinking that if she just waited long enough, he was sure to find a way back to her. She wasn't naive enough to think that this time.

Or hopeful enough.

She'd been so certain, up until Norway, that somewhere in that first universe he'd been working at a way to get back to her. Instead she wound up with "just an image," telling her why she could never see him again and failing to say the words she wanted to hear. That was the first day she'd accepted that he wasn't coming for her, and it was the first day she'd begun thinking about the dimension cannon.

This time he'd replaced the image with a phone call and she'd been the one who took too long to say the words. He wasn't coming for her, and this time Rose couldn't just burst through the walls of the universe to get back to him.

"How are you doing?" came her father's voice, pulling Rose from her thoughts.

"Great," she mumbled, and Pete gave her a knowing grimace.

"Your mum's sending me out to get milk," he said. He looked at her uneaten bowl of breakfast but said nothing. "Anything you want?"

Rose shoved herself back into a sitting position and shook her head, curling her arms around her torso. "No, I'm fine, thanks."

"Right." Pete hesitated a moment, like he wanted to say something and couldn't think of what. Finally he nodded. "Okay. Sure. I'll see you later, then."

"Yeah."

From her seat on the sofa Rose watched him go, hit suddenly, as she often was, by the absurdity of talking to her father. Both Jackie and Pete had tried to offer her some measure of advice, both knowing full well how it felt to lose a spouse. But then they'd eat dinner together, all four of them, or they'd debate how much they ought to spend on toys for Tony, and Rose found it difficult to take their advice seriously. That was how they'd really coped—by finding different versions of each other.

 _Different versions of each other_ , Rose thought suddenly, the bottom of her stomach seeming to disappear entirely. Her mouth went dry and she breathed deeply, her heart racing. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

She stumbled to her feet, running a hand over her hair to try and tame it into something half-presentable. "Mum?" she called. "I'm heading over to the flat."

Jackie's head popped out from around the corner, wet dish towel in her hands. "Rose!" she called. Rose stopped, feeling inexplicably guilty, and slowly turned around. “Come on, sweetheart, stay a bit longer.”

Rose hesitated. Then she curled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. "I can’t just _sit_ here,” she said. She felt hot tears pool in her eyes. “I need to do something.”

Jackie immediately looked suspicious. "How do you mean?”

She looked away, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “The dimension cannon,” she said reluctantly, “I’ve still got it.”

Jackie looked dismayed but not, Rose noticed, particularly surprised. "I thought the Doctor said the walls between parallel worlds were closed forever."

"Yeah? He's said so before, didn't he? And I got back then." Rose paused and then in a softer voice added, "Mum, I've got to try, haven't I? Every time I think about spending the rest of my life here, on my own, I feel like..." she waved uselessly at the air, "it's like I can't breathe."

"He's only been gone a few weeks, sweetheart. I'm not saying you shouldn't think about it, but you need time to say goodbye."

Rose shook her head. "I need to do this."

That's how she coped the last time around, wasn't it? Instead of giving up hope, instead of spending her life moping for the Doctor, she threw herself into building the dimension cannon. She could do the same thing again now.

"Rose," Jackie pleaded softly, "Rose, please don't."

"I'm sorry, Mum," she said, stomach tightening into knots. She wiped the back of her nose with her hand. "I've got to try." And then, because it didn't feel like enough, Rose added, "Look at you and Dad. Worked out okay for you, didn't it?"

Her voice cracked over the last words and she allowed herself to consider, for just a second, that she didn't really _want_ to start all over again with a man who looked and sounded like her husband, but wasn't her husband. _He had no right_ , she thought, with a flash of powerful anger. They could have found another way and instead of giving that a shot, instead of trusting her and Torchwood, he went and sacrificed their life together.

She wanted to smack him for that.

Jackie didn't look like she knew what else to say. Finally she settled on, "No changing your mind, is there?"

"Nope," Rose said, feeling a surge of determination. That was good. She liked determination--it was better than numbness. "I'm going to find him again."

She always had before, after all.

***

The Doctor was irritated.

He idly tapped the psychic paper against his leg from where he had it clutched between two fingers. He didn’t like being summoned, and he _especially_ didn’t like having to wait.

Waves lapped quietly against the shore of the beach where Amy waded in the water up to her knees, her shoes sitting safe on the shore. There was a small cut on the back of her thigh from when they beat a hasty retreat from the Caves of King Cylia III that morning, but otherwise she seemed to be enjoying the fresh water.

He quickly scanned the rest of the beach, but came up with nothing more interesting than a girl burying her father underneath a sandcastle and a half-naked couple snogging in the middle of the surf.

He tapped the psychic once more against his leg and then slipped it back in his pocket. If she didn’t show up soon...

He turned around and then came to a sudden and complete stop. His neck prickled uncomfortably and the human expression “like someone walking over my grave” popped into his head. It was particularly apt in this context, he thought, as he felt like he’d come face-to-face with a ghost.

She didn’t notice him right away, which gave him ample time to study her. Thoughts of rifts in time and space flew through his mind as he processed the “whys” and “hows” and “whens” in a manner of nanoseconds. He caught the slight indented outline in her jacket and knew that she was carrying around a gun. (Maybe she was frightened—coming to him for help? No, no, that wasn’t right. She could look after herself). He watched her stride determinedly through the beach, pushing through the crowds like she barely saw any of them.

She was looking for something— _someone_ , he corrected. And as her gaze finally found the TARDIS, her posture straightening and her lips twitching just a tiniest bit, he knew positively and without a doubt that she was looking for _him_.

Well, of course she was. One certainly didn’t go banging down the walls between parallel worlds for a quick visit to the nearest Tesco.

It didn’t take her long to realize that he was openly staring at her. As her eyes met his, she staggered a little like she had never stopped to consider the possibility that he might look differently than she remembered. He felt a stab to his heart and wondered how it was that after all this time, Rose Tyler’s approval could still mean so much to him.

That really wasn’t fair at all.

She clutched at her side like she was in physical pain, eyes sweeping him up and down as she tried unsuccessfully to hide her shock. Finally, growing impatient, he raised one hand to wave at her.

She hesitantly raised her hand to wave back, but then someone brushed up against him and a voice in his ear said, “Hi, sweetie. Been waiting long?”

Up ahead, Rose jerked back in surprise, whole body stiffening.

The Doctor sighed deeply and he turned around. River’s smile was deceptively innocent.

“River,” he said, “you always did have impeccable timing.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a soft voice with a London accent he never thought he’d hear again said, “Doctor?”

He looked over and his vision was filled with Rose Tyler—blue jacket and black trousers and outline of the gun tucked into her belt—all flesh and blood and completely impossible and standing next to him.

But her eyes were on River and River was, much to his dismay, staring at Rose right back. They both spoke at the same time: “Who’s she?”

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. Well. This wouldn’t be awkward at all.


	2. Chapter 2

He looked the same age as she did. Maybe younger, if she was honest. In another circumstance, she might have been able to get a joke out of the situation.

As it was, though, Rose Tyler was finding it hard to breathe. He'd regenerated. He'd regenerated and he'd moved on and he'd found someone else, someone who called him "sweetie" and looked at her with the same expression Rose had once worn when she looked at Sarah Jane.

Rose knew she had no good reason, no _right_ to be angry or hurt. It could well have been years for him—decades—and even if it hadn't, wasn't that what she'd always wanted for him, whenever she'd indulged long enough to imagine it? For him to heal and to move on and to be happy?

And yet....

"River, this is my old friend Rose Tyler," said the Doctor, and Rose wondered why "old friend" felt like such an insult. "Rose, this is Professor River Song, my... ah..." He trailed off, eyeing River as though he couldn't quite come up with the appropriate noun.

"Friend," River finished for him, rolling her eyes like they were co-conspirators. "It's nice to meet you, Rose." Her smile was polite and she stuck out her hand, but Rose couldn't bring herself to do anything more than stare. “All right, then,” River said slowly, withdrawing her hand.

Rose addressed the Doctor, saying the first thing that popped into her mind, "You changed." 

It was an utterly insufficient statement of the obvious, and she was all too aware that it sounded like an accusation. 

"Yeah." He gave her an awkward, stilted smile. "And you! You look... older."

Beside him, River quirked one eyebrow and looked at him in disbelief.

"I feel older," Rose admitted. " _God_ , do I feel older." Then she laughed, shrill and mirthless. "But look at you! You just get younger every time. You're like—what was that movie called? You're like _Benjamin Button_." 

She laughed again because it was either laugh or cry and she had got very good at not contemplating things that would lead to tears. 

River looked warily at the Doctor—disturbed, Rose assumed, by the raving lunatic who'd just shown up to ruin her beach date—but the Doctor's gaze was fixed on Rose, his unfamiliar eyes brimming with concern. He tentatively reached one arm out towards her, but Rose hastily pulled back out of his reach.

"Rose," he began, "what are you doing here?”

His brows furrowed and she could see him mentally going through everything he knew, trying to fit the pieces together. _“All my power is up here, Rose,” he’d told her once, tapping the side of his head to emphasize his point. “The best brain in the universe.”_

She had no doubt that he’d eventually work it on his own. Still, she decided to beat him to the punch. “He died," she said, doing her best to ignore the way her heart clenched at her own words. "You _died_."

Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. His arm dropped back to his side and his eyes widened, shock and then pity creeping into his expression. "Rose..."

"About three years after you left," she continued in a raw voice. "Blew himself up 'defending the Earth.' Sounds just like you, doesn't it?"

"Rose..." The Doctor trailed off, obviously fishing for something to say. There was an awkward moment of silence, and then he said, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." She shook her head, kicking at the sand under her feet and snorting derisively. "That's what he said."

She could feel his stare on the top of her head and she shut her eyes, fighting back the tears. She didn't want to cry, not here, not in front of this Doctor she didn't know and his "friend." She took one deep breath, and then another, trying to calm down.

It was only when she felt a hand on her elbow that her head jerked up and her eyes snapped open.

"Rose?" He was looking at her worriedly, and though she pulled her arm out of his grip she saw that glimmer of familiarity in his eyes that made her trust him implicitly no matter which face he was wearing. "Why don't we talk about this in the TARDIS, hey?"

He gestured behind him where the ship sat, and Rose looked at it skeptically. She'd always thought of the TARDIS as the Doctor's one constant, and yet there it sat, bluer than ever like he'd given it a fresh coat of paint, looking brand new. Maybe he thought his prized possession deserved a new look, too. Or maybe he just wanted to smooth over the rough, battered edges and start afresh.

The thought made Rose queasy. Out with the old...

"Rose?" The Doctor took a few slow steps back towards the TARDIS, watching her the whole time. He beckoned her forward once, and then for a moment his arm hung awkwardly in the air, as though he wasn’t sure what to do with it. Finally, he held out his hand.

"Yeah," said Rose, wondering if she sounded as exhausted as she felt. She declined reaching for his hand and walked past him and towards the TARDIS.

***

A young girl with bright ginger hair led Rose through the corridors of the TARDIS, whispering to her in soothing tones. “My name’s Amy,” said the girl. “Let’s get you a cup of tea, yeah? That’ll help.”

Rose felt something tug inside of as she remembered being in Amy’s position once upon a time. She used to be the one comforting the hysterical stranger by putting on a pot of tea. It was Jackie Tyler’s approved method, after all. 

The kitchen was bright and homey, its counters white but messy, covered with sauce stains and haphazardly strewn dishes. Rose pulled out a seat at the table, practically collapsing into a chair as Amy bustled in the background. She fought a wave of exhaustion as a sudden bout of dizziness crept up on her. She could pinpoint exactly the last time she had a full night’s rest—because it had been about 15 hours before her husband blew himself up saving the planet. 

It felt like a lifetime ago now. 

Since then, she had worked nonstop to get the dimension cannon working again. She was so _angry_ —so _furious_ with him. He could he _do_ that? Drop her with that human version of himself, promise to stay with her forever, and then go and leave her all over again? 

It was easier to focus on the dimension cannon than to think about him, up there on his own, sacrificing his life and all their happiness for the sake of the planet. Because as soon as she stopped, as soon as she let herself think for even a _minute_ , it felt like all the walls of the universe were pressing down on her. She was afraid to cry in case she never stopped. 

Rose pressed shaking fingers to her eyes, fighting to hold herself together. She had accomplished what she set out to do, hadn’t she? She’d finished the dimension cannon, tracked down the TARDIS, and found the Doctor. 

Only it wasn’t the right version of him. The universe, she was coming to realize, had a sick sense of humour. 

“Here,” said a kind a voice, and she looked up into Amy’s warm and smiling face. The girl held out a mug of tea and Rose accepted it gratefully. 

“Thanks.” She held it between her hands, fingers tracing patterns on the handle. 

She recognized a chip on the mug’s rim—a remnant from a hasty crash-landing sometime after Krop Tor and before the 2012 London Olympics. The memories stung and Rose felt a sharp stab of mourning for the Time Lord version of her husband. He was gone, too. 

Amy slipped into the seat across from her. “Are you all right?” she said hesitantly. 

Rose mustered up a smile, but didn’t answer. Amy seemed almost blindingly young (though she couldn’t be any younger than Rose had been, when she first started travelling with the Doctor). She could read confusion in the other girl’s face, but she’d obviously seen enough strange things with the Doctor to silently accept Rose’s sudden appearance. 

Outside the door, Rose could make out the snatches of an approaching conversation. 

“But how long is she staying for?” 

“I don’t know, River. As long as she wants.” 

“Must be some old friend, then.” 

“You could say that.” 

“Ah, I’m glad to find you as cryptic as ever—and don’t think I don’t know how to read between the lines.” There was a pause. “What did she mean when she said you died?” 

“That’s... it’s complicated.” 

The door to the kitchen creaked open and Amy very determinedly stared down at the table, shifting in her seat like she felt guilty for overhearing the conversation. But Rose’s gaze was immediately drawn to the Doctor—this young, bow-tie-and-tweed-jacket-wearing version of him. 

His clothes sort of worked on him, in an odd way. Maybe if she had still been travelling with him—maybe if she’d been there when he regenerated—maybe then he wouldn’t feel like such a stranger to her. 

He returned her gaze and Rose felt like someone had punched her. He didn’t love her. She didn’t know why she hadn’t picked up on it right away—there was fondness, yes. Concern, of course. Worry even. 

But he wasn’t looking at her like she was the centre of his world, like she was the most important thing in all of time and space. And that was a look that she had grown far too used to seeing in the Doctor’s eyes. 

“I did contact you for a reason, you know,” said River from behind the Doctor’s shoulder, breaking the moment. “Primitive village with a giant fissure in time running through it? Is this ringing any bells?” 

The Doctor waved a hand in her direction. “Just... give us a minute, will you?” 

“Great idea,” said Amy, standing up so abruptly from the table that her chair wobbled back behind her. “I’ll just... go.” She sent the Doctor a look Rose couldn’t read and then squeezed by them. 

“You must be important,” said River with a wink in Rose’s direction, “he doesn’t ignore the words ‘fissure in time’ for just anyone.” 

Rose could only muster up a tight smile in return. She couldn’t tell whether the other woman was expressing jealousy or not. 

As soon as they were alone, the Doctor closed the kitchen door but then stood in front of it, shifting awkwardly like he wasn’t sure how to begin. Finally he swallowed and then dropped into the seat that Amy had vacated. Rose studied the crack in her tea mug, but she could feel his probing stare on her face. 

He spoke. “What happened?” 

She shrugged. “It’s like I said. Aliens attacked. He sacrificed himself to save the planet.” She paused and then in a strained voice asked, “How did you regenerate?” 

It was a moment before he answered. “I was saving someone’s life.”

Rose snorted into her mug. “Of course.” Then she raised her head to study him. “Did it hurt?” 

He managed a half-smile. “Yes. Quite a lot, actually.” 

“You and your nine lives,” Rose said. “They say that cats always land back on their feet. It doesn’t matter where you drop them from.” 

He frowned. “I’d hardly say that’s a scientific fact.” 

“Sums you up, though,” Rose said. “I mean, God, look at you—you’ve got Amy and a new TARDIS. And River.” 

The jealousy was evident in _her_ voice, but the Doctor didn’t seem altogether surprised. “She’s just a friend.” 

“Yeah, and so am I,” Rose said. “Just a friend.” 

“Rose—” he reached across the table with one hand, eyebrows waggling upwards with encouragement. But she kept her own hands folded out of reach and so he sighed and drew it back. “How did you get here?” he tried instead. 

“Dimension cannon. It wasn’t hard to put it back together again,” she said. She felt the tears pressing down on her again, more forceful than before. “Especially with all the technology you— _he’d_ left lying around the flat.” 

“That was dangerous,” he said, after a moment. “You could have hurt yourself— _or_ others.” 

“I couldn’t stay there,” Rose said. “Not there... surrounded by everything. I just... I had to get away. I had to...” 

_Shake you, throttle you, scream at you,_ she thought silently. _Hug you again._

She was beginning to suspect that she wouldn’t get any of those things. 

“Rose, I’m sorry,” he said heavily like he sensed her unspoken words and knew that he couldn’t be what she needed. “I never wanted this for you.” 

“You never should have left me with him, then,” she said fiercely. “What did you think would happen? You can barely go a year without getting killed! It was a laugh to think he could ever make it to old age. And you—you just _threw_ us together, him without any regenerations and I can’t—” 

She buried her head in her arms, all her sleepless nights seemingly catching up with her at once. The Doctor’s voice was tinged with regret. “Rose, what can I do?” 

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I dunno why I came. This was a mistake.” 

She heard his chair scrape back and then his footsteps as he approached her. One of his hands came down to rest on her shoulder. She felt a small burst of hope, and looked up—only to find pity and concern in his eyes. 

But no love. 

Rose felt her chest constrict. One sob caught and lodged in her throat. “Please don’t touch me,” she said hoarsely. 

Hurt flickered across his face before he covered it up. He withdrew his hands, sticking them into the pockets of his jacket. “I want to help.” He paused. “Rose Tyler.” 

He lingered over her last name like he had so many times in the past and it made her want to curl up and sob. “I’d like to be alone,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. 

The Doctor hesitated. “All right,” he finally said. “If you need anything....” 

“Yeah,” Rose said. 

She didn’t watch him leave. Instead she picked up her tea, the mug barely warm against her hands. The TARDIS shuddered and jerked a moment later and Rose guessed they had entered the Time Vortex. 

And still she didn’t cry. 

**** 

She didn’t know how much time had passed when the TARDIS landed. She had stayed sitting at the kitchen table, dozing fitfully. Sometimes she dreamed of her Doctor’s voice right before he died—saying he was sorry and telling her he loved her. Or she saw the look of pity in this new Doctor’s eyes and the way he didn’t seem to quite know _what_ to do with her. 

She stared at the kitchen door, half expecting him to come bounding in and reach for her hand—eyebrows waggling with the promise of a new adventure. A time fissure in the middle of a primitive town—now imagine _that_. 

But he didn’t do any of those things, and finally, with some curiosity, Rose pushed herself to her feet and headed out into the TARDIS. She made her way to the console room. 

Amy waved at her when she entered. She and River were both clumped around the vidscreen, the Doctor nowhere in sight. 

“The Doctor said we had to sit this one out,” Amy explained, “something about a paradox and time collapsing in on itself? I dunno. It was all a bit dramatic.” She frowned at the vidscreen. “As far as I can tell, he’s just talking to some bloke.” 

Rose blinked and headed over to the vidscreen, peering over Amy’s shoulder—and promptly staggered back, sucking in a breath. 

Amy and River both shot her weird looks. “That’s... it’s...” Rose tried to explain before she pushed herself between them, grabbing the vidscreen with both hands. “ _Doctor_ ,” she whispered, hearing her voice crack. 

“Yeah, it’s still him,” said River with some impatience. “You were just talking to him 20 minutes ago in the kitchen.” 

Rose ignored her. River was right—that Doctor _was_ there, but it was the Doctor he was talking to that had Rose’s full attention. He had brown hair, sideburns, chucks and a suit that was just a size too small. He was, in other words, the spitting image of Rose’s dead husband. 

“Bit pretty, isn’t he?” River said, leaning in over the vidscreen again. “I wouldn’t mind a chance to—” 

“Oi, hands off,” Rose said with a glare in River’s direction. _That one’s mine,_ she almost snapped—before feeling guilty. After all, River had been nothing but gracious to her since she popped up into the Doctor’s life from out of nowhere. It was a courtesy Rose had not shown to Sarah Jane once upon a time. 

But River only looked amused. “All right, no need to get possessive.” 

Rose sniffed and turned back to the vidscreen. The Doctor—the new one—was explaining something very quickly while gesturing with his hands. The other Doctor (the one Rose was beginning to think of as hers) listened quietly and with increasing anxiety. Then he turned and glanced sharply at the TARDIS. Rose took a step back—she almost felt like he was staring right at her. 

Finally, Rose couldn’t take it any longer. Without a word, she pushed away from the console and strode towards the door. 

“Hang on,” Amy called, “the Doctor said we couldn’t go out there—” 

Rose barely heard her. Her throat burned as she pushed the door open, her legs propelling her forward. The Doctors broke off their conversation as soon as the TARDIS doors creaked open, and Rose heard a sharp intake of breath from her Doctor. 

She met his eyes and it felt like time stood still for them. Thoughts of yelling and screaming at him fled her mind. Instead she felt a lightheaded _relief_ at seeing him—alive and standing in front of her. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat and then she was running, almost _flying_ at him. 

He held out his arms and caught her as she slammed into him, arms going around her and holding on tightly. She pressed her face against his shoulder and breathed him in—he smelled exactly right, like hair gel and sweat and soap. If it wasn’t for the double beat of his hearts against hers, she could _almost_ pretend that he... that he.... 

His hands stroked her hair and then her back and he whispered, “Rose, I’ll fix this—I’ll make it right. I promise.” 

Rose knew he couldn’t, but in that moment she didn’t care. It felt so nice to hear him say it, to have him holding her again like she was the only thing that mattered to him. 

She pulled away enough to seek out the other Doctor—the new one. “Thanks,” she whispered with wet eyes. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said, with a genuine smile. Then he gestured behind him and gave Rose’s Doctor a significant look. “I have a small fissure in time to close, but after that....” 

“I’ll be here,” said Rose’s Doctor. 

He nodded and then turned, heading back to the TARDIS without another word. 

Rose frowned suspiciously. “What was that about?” 

He hesitated, but then said, “Nothing.” He took her hand with a gentle smile. “C’mon.” 

“Where're we going?” 

“To the TARDIS, of course. Well, my TARDIS.” He paused. “Is it just me or did his TARDIS seem a bit... blue?” 

“ _Yes_!” Rose said with a snort. “Blimey, it was awful.” 

The Doctor looked a little put out. “The regeneration process always did get a bit dodgy.” 

Rose smiled and squeezed his hand. The Doctor squeezed her hand back and sent her such a heart-warming look that she allowed herself to think, for just a second, that maybe the universe was finally about to give her something back.


	3. Collaboration Fic: The Long Way Home (3/5) Doctor/Rose

The TARDIS - this TARDIS, anyway, the one she considered the _proper_ TARDIS—was exactly how she remembered it, all coral struts and green and gold lighting. One hand still gripping the Doctor's tightly, she reached out her free hand to brush the tips of her fingers against one of the coral struts. There was a comfort in the rough texture that she'd never found anywhere else. As fond as she'd been of the flat she'd shared with the Doctor, nothing quite compared to the homey feel of this mad alien box.

This TARDIS looked and felt the same as she remembered—but it was very quiet.

"There's no one with you?" Rose asked as they stepped up the ramp.

"Nope. Flying solo." He smiled as he answered, but there was a distant look in his eyes that Rose recognized all too well. "It's not so bad."

 _Liar_ , Rose thought, though she didn't say it. Instead she looked at him, studying the set of his shoulders. There was a loneliness in his eyes she hadn't seen there for years. For all that her husband had been ageing like a human, the Time Lord beside her looked much older.

"He told me about Donna," she said, squeezing his hand when his shoulders flinched at the name. "I don't think he meant to, it just sort of... slipped out. I'm sorry. Was she the last...?"

"Yeah." He avoided her eyes but squeezed her hand in return, flipping a lever and sending the TARDIS hurtling back into the Vortex.

"How long?"

The Doctor shrugged. "About a year and half." He grabbed her around the waist to steady her, and Rose clutched him back tighter than was necessary. "It's fine," he said, loosening his grip when the TARDIS stabilized without actually letting go. "I'm fine."

"That's a long time to be alone," said Rose. He didn't answer, and Rose mustered up a smile. "Well." She forced a quiet, awkward laugh. "Good thing I'm here now, yeah?"

The Doctor's answering smile was small and sad. He said nothing, but looked her up and down, marvelling at her like he couldn't quite believe his luck—like he couldn't decide if that luck was good or bad. The hand at her back drifted forward, pausing when it reached the lump under her jacket that concealed her gun. His hand lingered there for a moment and so did his gaze, his lips turning down in a sad frown.

"Rose Tyler," he said quietly, his eyes finally meeting hers again. "What have I done to you?"

She didn't answer; her throat was tight and her chin was shaking, and all she managed was a quick, watery laugh before she stepped forward, hiding her face in his chest and clinging to the lapels of his coat. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. They stood like that for a long moment, Rose trying to calm her breathing, the Doctor rubbing a small but soothing circle on her back.

Finally she turned her head, resting her ear against his chest and taking a deep breath. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but yawned instead, the exhaustion of these last few months begining to wear at her.

"You need rest," the Doctor said, softly but decisively. He stepped back, letting his arms fall from around her but taking her by the hand. She opened her mouth to protest, but the Doctor shook his head. "Come on." He grinned. "Doctor's orders."

Rose laughed despite herself, rolling her eyes. "You are _so_ lame."

***

Her room on the TARDIS was exactly the way she'd left it.

Stepping into the room she'd lived in when she was twenty felt more like time travel than anything she'd ever done with the Doctor; the pink sheets and the mascara on her chest of drawers and the photos pinned to the mirror all felt like they belonged to someone else. Most of her clothes were gone—she'd packed them up to get them washed the last time she'd left this room—but there was an extra pair of shoes sitting by the end of the bed, still splashed with muck from some alien planet.

It'd been the first door that she'd found on the TARDIS, and the Doctor had been instantly apologetic. "Sorry," he'd said, "I didn't think... we can—”

"It's all right," she'd said.

Rose tried to remember how she'd felt the last time she'd stood in this room—young and invincible with a heart that had never been shattered. She'd took off her blue jacket and set her gun next to the mascara, then pulled open the top drawer. There was a pair of polka-dotted flannel pyjamas and she held them up in front of her, one hand automatically tugging her shirt upwards.

"Blankets!" exclaimed the Doctor quite suddenly. There was a harried cough and he said, "Yes, blankets. You need... blankets."

And then he hurried from the room, ostensibly to give her time to change on her own. Rose felt a hot blush in her cheeks--she'd almost let herself forget that he wasn't really her husband, that she hadn't spent the last few years casually undressing in front of him without a second thought.

She hurriedly tugged off her clothes and then pulled on the pyjamas before wandering over to the bed and sinking back into it. She remembered waking up in this bed most mornings with a giddy excitement in her belly, an itch to travel and the confidence that she and the Doctor could withstand anything. They'd been younger and naive, both of them, and Rose remembered believing there wasn't anything they couldn't handle.

 _They keep trying to split us up_ , she remembered saying, _but they never ever will_.

She sighed. "Never say never ever."

"What was that?"

The bed dipped beneath her and he opened her eyes to see the Doctor sitting next to her, carrying several soft blankets. He set them down at the end of the bed and then laid back next to her, his head tilted in her direction. Rose met his eyes and turned her head towards him, managing a small smile.

"Nothing," she said. "Thanks for the blankets."

The Doctor smiled tightly. "Rose..." he began, and then broke off, shaking his head. "Rose, I never meant for—”

"I know." She swallowed and rolled onto her side, facing him. "You should've said goodbye. I deserved that much."

"I know." The Doctor hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. "I... couldn't, Rose. I just..." He broke off and ran his hands over his face, and then rolled over to face her. His gaze drifted to her hand where it lay on the bed between them, and then he gingerly reached out to touch the ring on her left hand. "You were happy, weren't you?"

Rose bit her lip. "Not at first. It was complicated, I was... I never expected to go back there. I thought once I found you that'd be it, and then you just _left_ and I..." She drew in a shaky breath, staring down at her ring and twirling it around her finger. "I wasn't very fair to him. Not at first. But it got better. He was patient, and..." She rolled her shoulders in a tiny shrug. "He was you. We made it work." She forced herself to smile. "He loved me."

The Doctor nodded, his expression unreadable. "Of course he did." His fingers curled around her left hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Rose twined her fingers with his and looked down at their hands. It _looked_ right—his hands were the right size and his fingers were the right length—but it felt wrong. His skin was too cold and his ring finger was empty. Rose's vision blurred and she blinked quickly to hold back tears.

"Me, though..." Her laugh was high-pitched. "I'm a rubbish wife. Look at me. He dies to save the world, and what's the first thing I do? Look for a replacement." She buried her face in her hands and shook her head, fighting desperately to keep control. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm _so sorry_ , I—"

"Shhh." She felt his arm around her back, tugging her closer, and she burrowed into him, looping her arm around him. "He'd want you to be happy." He smoothed his hand over her hair, and Rose focused on the familiarity of his touch and his voice and even his smell. "And you will be. I promise. I'll make sure of it."

 _There's nothing you can do_ , she wanted to say — but that wasn't quite true, was it? Even his pinstriped suit made her feel a little less... alone.

"Now get some sleep," he said, his voice soft in her ear. "We'll talk more when you're rested."

She wanted to protest, but her old bed was soft and warm and she was so very tired, so all she said was, "Stay."

"Of course." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and slowly Rose allowed herself to relax and drift off to sleep.

***  
Rose woke up feeling warm and well rested, tucked under a pile of blankets. She didn’t open her eyes right away, instead deciding to savour the feeling. She turned into her pillow, mentally going over everything that had happened. The faint hum from the TARDIS reminded her that she really _was_ back with the Doctor.

She rolled over, arm instinctively reaching out across the bed only to swipe at empty space. She forced her eyes open, feeling a pang. This Doctor didn’t sleep, she reminded herself. It would have been silly to expect him to spend the whole night with her.

She would just have to adjust back to the little changes—that was all.

Pulling back the covers, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and then padded out into the hallway, still clad in her pyjamas. She looked around for the Doctor and then sniffed the air, lips turning up into a smile. It smelled like bacon and eggs.

She followed the smell to the kitchen and then stopped in the doorway, watching the Doctor’s back as he sizzled eggs and bacon on the stove, jerking hurriedly to the side to stuff bread into the toaster. She opened her mouth and almost said something about how she used to wake up to him making her breakfast all the time, how that was just _like_ him—before thinking better of it and snapping her mouth shut again.

She used to curl up behind him as he worked in front of the stove, pressing against his back before he would grin and turn around, spatula in one hand and toast crumbs dotting his cheek. He would kiss her and say “good morning” and sometimes—sometimes they might even leave breakfast to get cold...

“Rose?”

She jumped, snapping out of her daydream to find a Time Lord staring at her in curious befuddlement. “Sorry,” she said automatically, “it’s just... you made me breakfast. Smells amazing.”

“Yup. Fit for a queen.” He scooped the eggs and bacon onto a plate just as the toast popped up before setting it down on the table and gesturing at her.

He was in downright danger of turning into a mother hen, Rose thought as she took a seat at the table. The Doctor nodded approvingly and then backed up a few paces, folding his arms over his chest and watching her like a hawk.

Rose took a bite of eggs and the Doctor grinned at her. “Oh, come on!” she said as she chewed and swallowed. “I couldn’t have looked like that much of a wreck yesterday.”

“ _Well..._ ”

It was impossible not to return his grin. She had to admit, though, warm food _did_ feel good. “I could get used to this,” she warned, “I didn’t know I could get such great service.”

The Doctor didn’t reply and Rose looked up to find him gazing at her solemnly. The food seemed to harden and pool in her stomach and she pushed the half-eaten plate away from her.

“What is it?” she said. He looked away. “Doctor?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Rose, you can’t... this is only temporary.”

Rose suddenly found it harder to draw in a breath. “How do you mean?”

“You can’t stay here—not with me, at any rate.”

“What?” she whispered. She pressed a hand to her stomach, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. “How can you... you don’t want me here.”

“No,” he said. He mustered up a strained smile. “Not that. No.”

She released a sharp breath. “Then why...?”

He sounded frustrated. “I’m going to regenerate. Soon. It could be months or weeks or even days from now—I don’t know exactly. But it’s happening.”

“I don’t care—”

The Doctor cut her off. “Rose, you met the next me. You saw who he was travelling with.”

Rose felt like something had knocked the wind out of her. She struggled to go on, “I’m not with him.”

The Doctor shook his head, eyes looking suspiciously wet. “You’re a part of his timeline now— _my_ future timeline. Not here, not now.”

“Not with you,” she whispered, shoulders slumping. “That’s just... it’s not _fair_!” she burst out.

“I know,” said the Doctor. He slid into the seat across from her. “I should have told you right away, but you looked so...”

He trailed off, sounding so forlorn that Rose had to fight the urge to go to him and wrap her arms around him. Instead she linked her hands together, fingers pushing and pulling at each other. “Why did he—future you, I mean—why did he bring me here, then? Why would he _do_ that?”

“He wanted to help you.”

“He didn’t want anything to do with me,” said Rose bitterly.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though. He doesn’t...” she hesitated, and then looking away, said, “he doesn’t love me.”

“Now, that’s not fair,” said the Doctor, “it’s been a long time for him, Rose. That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“It’s not the same.”

The Doctor rubbed idly at the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable by the turn of their conversation. “And what about you?” he said. “Did you want to be with him?”

Rose swallowed. “That’s not the point.”

“Rose,” he said, in a clear think-about-what-you’re-saying voice.

“I could have adjusted,” she said defensively. “I did before. I....” She looked away, feeling selfish and unreasonable. Finally, she admitted, “I want to be with you.”

He sighed heavily. “You can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“So that’s it, then?” Rose demanded. “I came all this way to find you and now I’ve got to turn around and go back?”

The Doctor hesitated and then said, “Tell me about how he died.”

Rose’s mouth dropped. “I’m sorry?”

“Where was he?” he continued. “Was he in a building in London or—”

“No, it was a spaceship,” Rose said, “the Kordhums, he said. They could only be destroyed from inside the ship.”

“Right,” said the Doctor, beginning to get excited, “decompress the engines on a Kordhum ship and the entire thing blows in less than a minute. Love them.”

“Yeah, great,” Rose said, beginning to feel light-headed. “I’m sure he appreciated that right before he died."

“Rose,” he said, in a tone that indicated he was disappointed she hadn’t caught on yet, “that gives us thirty seconds. Thirty glorious seconds.”

Rose stared at him in incomprehension. “What are you talking about?”

“Thirty seconds is easy when you’ve got a TARDIS.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “What?” she breathed. “You can’t seriously... Doctor, are you serious?”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” he said. “I’m going to bring you back to your universe, Rose Tyler. And then I am going to rescue your husband.”

***

She followed him through the halls of the TARDIS, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides. “Won’t that create a paradox, though?” she pressed. “When I saved my dad from that car—”

"What prompted you to go and save your father was the fact that he'd died," the Doctor called briskly, sweeping through the TARDIS and speaking even faster than he was walking. "But once you saved him, you had no reason to go back and save him—paradox. You see? This time there's no body, no proof. You _assume_ he died on that Kordhum ship, but right now a future you and a future me could be over there saving him from death while a past you assumes that he's died and comes looking for me. I drop the two of you off at some later date and _voila!_ Fixed." He glanced over his shoulder. "You understand?"

Rose stared. "Not a word," she admitted sheepishly.

He turned and kept on his way, gesturing as he went. “Right. Think of it like this. Some things are fixed and some things are not. Pete Tyler’s death was fixed. He _had_ to die in 1987.”

“So what you’re saying is, your— _his_ death wasn’t fixed, then?”

“ _Exactly_ ,” said the Doctor, “we can change it. We have thirty seconds in which we can change it.” He tilted his head. " _Well_. Twenty-six seconds, to be specific."

Rose’s head was spinning. “But...”

The Doctor stopped abruptly. He spun around and turned to her, grabbing her hands in his. “Those are the rules, Rose. I have to...” he sighed, a look of shame briefly passing over his face, “even I have to follow them. I couldn’t bring Pete Tyler back for you in 1987, but I _can_ bring your husband back. And I will. I promise.”

Rose squeezed his hands back, bottom lip beginning to wobble. “Yeah?”

He touched her hair briefly before pulling away. “Oh, yes.” He winked at her. “Now, I’ll need your dimension cannon and... ooh, maybe a bicycle tyre.”

“Got it,” Rose said, a smile blooming across her face. She felt lighter than she had in ages. She turned, intending to run back to her room when something made her stop. “Doctor?”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

Without another word, she crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his. He stayed frozen in shock for a moment before kissing her back, arms winding around her waist.

She pulled away and he was still gazing at her, eyes dark. “What was that for?”

Rose flashed him a cheeky grin. “Something to remember me by.”

His lips twitched, but his eyes were sad. “Yeah."

***

“Got the dimension cannon,” said Rose, jogging into the console room. She held up the round disk between her hands and the Doctor popped up from behind the console, sonic screwdriver between his teeth. He made an affirmative noise and then pulled on a lever. There was a shatter of sparks which the Doctor waved away with a brief flash of irritation.

“Ah,” he said. He reached for the dimension cannon with one hand and into his jacket pocket with his other hand. He pulled out his specs and then studied the dimension cannon, eyebrows drawing together.

Rose shifted, feeling a bit like her handiwork was suddenly on display for the universe’s harshest critic. “No bicycle tyres, though,” she said. “What did you need them for?”

“To absorb the impact.”

“Of what?”

“Breaking through the walls to another universe.” He yanked off his glasses and then wagged the dimension cannon in her direction. “Rose, this is impressive technology. Brilliant, in fact.”

“Thanks,” Rose said, smiling despite herself. “I must have picked up one or two tricks from you in the past.”

“But still not _quite_ enough on its own,” the Doctor continued, voice dropping. He stared off into space for a moment, lost to his own musings.

Rose awkwardly stuck her hands into the back pockets of her trousers. She bit her lip, desperate to get back to her world—back to her Doctor. If she’d waited this long, though, she could wait a little longer. The Doctor wouldn’t hold things up if it wasn’t important.

“What is it?”

“There’s something else out there,” he murmured. “Something that’s affecting the walls of the universe.”

“What, like the Daleks?”

The Doctor suddenly snapped to attention. “Nah, probably nothing,” he said, suddenly cheerful again. He dropped to his knees, head disappearing under the console. She heard the sonic screwdriver buzz, and then he slid the dimension cannon into an alcove just below the incline of the console.

Rose cocked her head to the side dubiously. “What’s it going to do?”

“Direct us straight back to where you came from,” said the Doctor. “Pete’s world, 2011. We’ll just modify the time by... oh, two months, five days, 16 hours, 11 minutes, and 43 seconds. Right before my counterpart is set to sacrifice himself for your world. How does that sound?”

Rose smiled widely. “Perfect.”

“Hold on tight,” he said. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”


	4. Collaboration Fic: The Long Way Home (4/5) Doctor/Rose

The Doctor gripped the control board of the Kordhum engine tight with one hand to keep himself upright, and with the other hand he set to work flipping switches and hitting buttons. In the corner of the room, his mobile rattled against the floor as it vibrated with call after call.

The Doctor sucked in a deep breath, taking the screwdriver from between his teeth and doing his best to ignore the sound of the phone. He couldn't afford to think about Rose down on Earth, calling him, hoping desperately he'd pick up and let her persuade him not to do this. He couldn't afford to think about the terror in her voice or the pain he was about to cause her. He had a job to do, and thinking about any of those things for too long would make doing that job even harder. The planet was in danger. Every moment he delayed was a chance for the Kordhum droids to cause more destruction and kill more people. Waiting for UNIT or Torchwood to dream up an alternative was reckless and selfish when he could so easily put an end to it himself.

He lifted the screwdriver to the panel of the computer and paused, twisting his head to look at the readings on the monitor beside him. The screen was flashing all sorts of frantic warnings, which the Doctor took as a good sign. Just one last tweak to the feedback loop with the sonic screwdriver, and...

He hesitated, the tip of the screwdriver hovering over the appropriate switch, his heart hammering in his chest. The air was uncomfortably warm and his suit, damp with sweat, clung to him like a second skin, but he felt cold. The pain in his left leg was getting worse the longer he stood, and no matter how tight he gripped the screwdriver he couldn't stop his hand from trembling. He took two deep, desperate breaths, trying to calm himself and push aside the uncomfortable truth: he was terrified.

He didn't want to die.

There had been moments when he was a Time Lord when he'd been tired enough to think that maybe death would be a relief. But the three years he'd been with Rose had been some of his happiest, and he wasn't ready to lose that, not yet—he doubted he ever would be. It seemed vastly unfair that he should have this glimpse of a happy life only to be robbed of it so quickly, but he supposed he couldn't claim to be surprised.

He looked back at his mobile, still vibrating on the floor, and a rush of guilt and regret mingled in with his fear. Most of all, he hated what this would do to Rose—leave her on her own after he'd promised her a lifetime. She was going to be devastated.

But she'd be safe, and that was what really mattered. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the button on the sonic screwdriver.

_Twenty-six seconds_ , he thought.

The control board reacted with a shower of sparks and several disconcerting clangs, and the Doctor let go of the machine, collapsing to the floor. He drew his good leg up to his chest, rested his forehead on his knee and squeezed his eyes shut. A single dry sob escaped him and he bit down hard on his lower lip to stop any more from following on its heels.

He forced himself to think of Rose—Rose when they first met, buying him chips, Rose in Victorian England, laughing about a werewolf, Rose at the end of a deserted street with a gun bigger than her and a smile a mile wide, Rose kissing him for the first time on that beach, Rose in their flat, Rose at the wedding, Rose on their honeymoon...

Something familiar twinged at the back of the Doctor's mind, and despite himself he furrowed his brow in confusion. It felt like... but it _couldn't_ be, and—

A second later there was a sound and a rush of wind to match the sensation in his mind, and the Doctor lifted his head to see the TARDIS materialise about a foot in front of him. He stared at it dumbly, his mouth falling open.

He _had_ to be hallucinating.

The doors to the TARDIS swung open, and a man in a long brown coat looked at him, unimpressed. "Well don't just sit there, you've got exactly sixteen seconds until this ship explodes, are you really planning to hang around for that?"

" _What?_ " the Doctor squeaked.

"Oh, come _on_ ," the other Doctor said, reaching down to grab his hand. "You'd think you'd never done a last-minute rescue before." With that, he heaved the Doctor up off the ground and into the TARDIS.

The Doctor held tight to the other man's arm as he tried to keep his balance, his mind reeling. "What—how—how did—"

"Special request," was all the other Doctor said, reaching over to pull the TARDIS doors shut.

Then the Doctor heard a muffled sob, and turned to find Rose Tyler standing at the top of the ramp, her lips quivering even as she pressed them together and smiled. The Doctor stared at her, totally stunned, his mouth dropping open once again.

"Rose?"

"Hi," she said, her voice shaking with tears again—but there was a joy in it, this time. With a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob she stepped towards him, and the Doctor let go of the other man's arm in order to step towards her too.

Or at least, he tried to step towards her; instead he wound up tumbling into her and knocking her flat on her back.

"Er," said the Doctor, blinking down at her in surprise. "Sorry."

But Rose beamed at him. "S'okay." And he supposed it must've been, because the next second she was kissing him all over—his lips, his cheek, his forehead, his nose. Her arms wrapped up around his shoulders and crushed him to her, and before he could properly register what was happening, her mouth was at his ear, whispering "I love you" in between kisses.

"Love you too," he said automatically, still struggling to keep up. He'd been about to die. Rose had been on Earth. He'd been about to _die_ , and Rose had been thousands of miles below him on Earth, and now he was lying on top of her on the floor of the TARDIS while another man piloted them away from the explosion. "Rose," he began, barely able to get a word in while she kissed him, "what... what's going _on_? How did you get here?" His brow crinkled. "Why are you.. on the TARDIS?"

She pulled back and pressed her lips together, seeming to contemplate her answer. One hand came forward and raked through his hair, coming to rest at the back of his neck. A couple tears slipped out the corners of her eyes and dripped down into the blonde hair pooled beneath her head. She opened her mouth to speak just as she shifted beneath him—and accidentally kicked his ankle.

The Doctor yelped in pain and grimaced and Rose's eyes widened. "Sorry," she said immediately. "Oh, sorry, I wasn't—"

"It's all right," he assured her through a clenched jaw, but now that he'd been reminded of the pain it seemed impossible to focus on anything else.

"Right then!" came an all-too-chipper voice, and the Doctor squinted up to see his duplicate looming over them. "Hate to interrupt, but unless you plan to let twenty-first century Earth medicine heal that ankle—and I must say, you'd be mad if you did—we need to get you to the med lab pronto. I can't keep this breach open forever."

The Doctor looked down at Rose, but her expression was unreadable. "Right, yeah." He nodded absently and reached up, allowing his counterpart to hoist him to his feet.

***

The Doctor shoved himself up on his elbows, trying and failing to make himself more comfortable. His left leg was stuck inside a large tube, there was nowhere comfortable to put his right leg, and shift as he might, he couldn't make it any less awkward.

Beyond that, it felt strange to be sitting in the TARDIS with Rose again. The TARDIS was happy to see him—he could hear her humming merrily in the back of his mind—but her pilot was less so, and the Doctor suspected that the quicker they were separated again, the better. There was something inherently uncomfortable about being around someone who both was you and wasn't, and the fact that Rose was there... well, it didn't do a lot to make the situation less complicated.

But Rose—for the moment, at least—seemed focused entirely on him. She sat on the edge of his bed and watched him like she was scared he might vanish into thin air.

"I thought you were dead," she'd admitted quietly while the other Doctor had fiddled at the counter trying to concoct a painkiller. "I mean, you _were_. At least—I thought—you made that _call_ and you hung up and the ship was destroyed and I thought—"

He'd hugged her then, as best he could, feeling immensely guilty for the tears in her eyes. She'd hidden her face in the crook of his neck, her shoulders hitching, right as the other Doctor had left a syringe of painkiller on the table and swept out of the room. But that still didn't explain how she wound up on the TARDIS with his Time Lord counterpart, and Rose hadn't been exactly forthcoming with explanations.

The Doctor had a sneaking suspicion he might be happier not knowing.

"Did it work?" she asked, looking at him worriedly. "The drugs he gave you, I mean. Does it still hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, it doesn't hurt, it's just..." He shifted to the side, trying to find something to do with his right leg other than let it dangle over the edge of the bed. "...uncomfortable." With a defeated 'humpf' he fell back against the pillow. "I don't like being immobile," he announced.

Rose grinned. "I noticed." She fiddled with one of his buttons and the Doctor went cross-eyed trying to watch her hand. "D'you need anything? A drink, or...?"

In truth he was starving, his mouth was dry and his throat was sore, but as he wasn't particularly eager for Rose to leave his side, he said, "I'm all right." He caught her hand in his and twisted their fingers together. "Are you?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You look exhausted."

She smiled softly, turning her head to press a kiss to his palm. "I'm better now," she assured him.

But the Doctor sensed it was more complicated than that.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly, cupping the side of her face and then letting his hand fall. "Really."

Rose didn't say anything. Instead she shimmied over next to him and laid down as best she could, her head next to his. She held up their hands, playing with his fingers, and for a moment they were silent.

Then the Doctor asked, quietly, "Rose, how did you get here?"

Rose bit her lip and her hand stilled. "The dimension cannon," she said finally, "I..."

But before she could answer the other Doctor breezed into the room, peering through his glasses at the screen next to the Doctor's bed. "Needed a TARDIS to rescue you, didn't she?" He waved his screwdriver at the computer and raised an eyebrow. "It's still calibrating. This is ridiculously slow." He gave the monitor a whump for good measure.

The Doctor shoved himself up and twisted around, trying to get a good view of the monitor. "Try ramping up the power to the—"

"External inhibitor, I _did_ , thank you," said the other Doctor briskly. "It's not the machine, it's _you_. Your physiology's confusing it. It wasn't designed for hybrids."

"Oi, I'm not a _car_ —" the Doctor protested, but his stomach chose that moment to give a loud, dissatisfied rumble, and Rose slid to her feet.

"I'll get us something to eat," she said. She trailed one hand fondly down the Doctor's arm and then looked around him towards the man standing up. "D'you want anything, Doctor?"

"I'm fine." He looked up from the screen just long enough to meet her eyes for a second. "Thanks."

"Okay." With one last squeeze of the Doctor's hand, she set off to find the kitchen.

The Doctor watched her go, his mouth curving down into a small frown. Something was wrong, he knew—more wrong than Rose thinking he was dead. He leaned back on his elbows and watched his duplicate fiddle with the controls of the machine, wondering how honest he ought to be.

Finally he said, "You shouldn't have saved me."

The other man raised his eyebrows, sending him an incredulous stare. "Are you complaining?"

"No." The Doctor dropped his gaze to his left hand, twirling his wedding band around on his finger. "But you shouldn't have. It was dangerous. Breaking through the walls of the universe, risking a paradox—"

"There is no paradox," the other Doctor snapped impatiently, turning to scowl. "Somewhere on your Earth another version of Rose just received a very infuriating phone call, and in a few days time she'll set about fixing her dimension cannon to come find me." He looked the Doctor up and down, the irritation plain on his face. "Honestly, I know you're part human, but have you completely forgotten everything about how time works?"

The Doctor snorted. "Have you been travelling alone by choice or is it just difficult to find someone who wants to live with such a perpetual ray of sunshine?"

The other man glowered but turned back to the computer without a word, and the Doctor felt an immediate twinge of guilt. He knew himself well enough to recognize the scowl and the irritability and the long silences as indicators of something far worse than moodiness. There was a misery in it, a deep, unsettling loneliness mixed with a fury at the universe. And here was the universe, parading in front of him the exact life he could never have.

"You shouldn't travel alone for so long," said the Doctor eventually. "It's not healthy. Look at you."

The other man crouched down, waving his sonic screwdriver at the underside of the computer. "You sound like Donna," was all he said.

"Good!" The Doctor leaned over on his elbow, trying to see what the other man was doing. He hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "Have you seen her since...?"

"Don't be stupid."

The Doctor nodded. "Right. 'Course not." He lowered himself back against the bed, letting out a long sigh.

There was an awkward, momentary silence, then the other man spoke, his head still hidden from sight beneath the desk. "Do you remember what Ood Sigma said when we left that planet?"

The Doctor scrunched up his nose, struggling to take a trip that far down memory lane. "Something about singing songs of the DoctorDonna?"

"He said 'I think your song must end soon,'" the other Doctor answered. There was a pause, and then he added, "Someone else said that to me recently, too. 'Your song is ending, sir.'" He sniffed. "Evidently it's common knowledge."

He was trying to sound unaffected, but the Doctor knew himself better than that. "Huh." He scratched the back of his neck, frowning knowingly at the ceiling. "D'you suppose that means death or regeneration?"

"Regeneration, apparently," the other man said, standing up straight again. "I've 'seen the future', so to speak." He looked at the Doctor and pulled a face. "It's got floppy hair. And a tweed jacket. And a _bow tie_."

The Doctor blinked in surprise. "A bow tie? Really?" He considered that for a moment and then shrugged. "We've worn worse." Then he shook his head. "Hold on, when did you meet him?"

"Just recently." The other Doctor moved to the end of the bed, pointing his screwdriver at the machine around the Doctor's leg; it sprung to life with a low whirr. "Rose got a bit lost trying to find me." He shoved his hands into his pockets and drew his mouth into a thin line. "I'll forget all this."

The Doctor frowned, wondering again what must have taken place before he'd been pulled into the TARDIS. He couldn't imagine the experience had been particularly pleasant for the other Doctor. "Was it really that memorable?"

The other man shrugged. He looked towards the door, scratching the back of his neck with one hand, and the Doctor had the distinct impression he was wondering if he ought to say something.

And then he said, "I met Adelaide Brooke."

"Oh?"

"I saved her life."

The Doctor shot up into a sitting position instantly. "You did _what_?"

"I didn't mean to be there," said the other Doctor. He paced back and forth at the end of the bed, pulling at his hair. "I didn't. I was just looking for something to do, just—something, anything, honestly I didn't mean for it to be then—but then I was _there_ , and there was something in the water, and they were dying, and..." He stopped pacing long enough to look at the Doctor, his eyes wide and frantic and terrified. "I tried to leave, I did, but they were _dying_ and I didn't—I couldn't—"

He broke off with a frustrated hiss, turning his back on the Doctor and grabbing his hair with both hands. His shoulders shook as he took several deep breaths, and then he let go of his hair, his arms falling limply to his sides. "She shot herself. I told her what was meant to happen and she shot herself." He laughed bitterly and shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "No matter what I do I make it worse."

But the Doctor's eyes were narrowed and unsympathetic. "That's a _fixed point_ ," he snapped. "You can't go changing fixed points just because you don't double-check your holiday spots, that's _dangerous!_ The things you could do to history—to the _universe_ , that's—"

The other Doctor wheeled around, suddenly furious. "Shut up," he snarled. "Don't you _dare_ lecture me. You have no _idea_ how it's been for me this past year, listening to people tell me I'm going to die, travelling alone because when people travel with me they get hurt, and how can I justify that? And even if I could, they'd leave me anyway, and I can't take that anymore, I can't." He paused long enough to take a breath, his lip curling in bitterness and fury and resentment. "Meanwhile, you— _you've_ spent the last three years living happily ever after in a parallel world, shagging Rose! You're not even a Time Lord! So don't you _dare_ sit there and tell me what I can and cannot do, like you wouldn't do _exactly_ the same thing in my position."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the Doctor in brown breathing hard, the Doctor in bed at a loss for words. Then the other Doctor turned away again, his chest still heaving.

"Took me a while to find the... bread..." Rose said slowly as she entered the room with a tray of sandwiches and salad, her gaze drifting from one Doctor to the other. "Is everything okay?"

The Doctor stayed quiet, watching his counterpart. The Time Lord glanced at Rose and her sandwiches very briefly and nodded, looking at the wall.

"Yes," he said curtly. "Everything's fine." He gestured behind him. "Should be about fifteen minutes until his ankle's better, then I'll take you both home." With that, he swept past a befuddled Rose and out of the room.

"What was that about?" Rose said.

The Doctor looked away. "No idea."

Rose sighed and then shoved the tray into his hands. He took it automatically. "What are—" he began, but she was all ready halfway out of the room. "Rose?"

"I'll be back in a minute," she called over her shoulder before hurrying after his counterpart.

The Doctor sighed and deposited the tray on the tube encasing his leg. Somehow he'd completely lost his appetite.

****  
She found the Doctor in the library, pacing in between the shelves.

"Doctor?" she called, and he froze, like a child caught misbehaving. She stepped closer towards him and he looked up for only a moment before he looked away again, reaching out to trace his fingers along the spines of a row of books. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

"Wrong?" He glanced at her briefly, a flicker of a smile on his lips. "Nothing wrong. I was just wondering about..." He tilted his head to read the spines of the book he'd been touching and frowned. "Er. French-Canadian cuisine in the twentieth century."

Rose folded her arms across her chest, one eyebrow cocked upwards. "Doctor."

He finally turned towards her, smiling apologetically. "Sorry. It's just..." He sniffed and looked over her shoulder, avoiding eye-contact the way he always did when something made him uncomfortable. "It's weird, being around someone who's just like you. ...Well. Sort of."

"Right." She sighed and dropped her arms, stepping closer to him. "Doctor..."

He looked at her again, a misleadingly innocent look of inquiry on his face. "Shouldn't you be with him right now? In sickness and in health and all that?"

"He understands." _I hope_ , she added privately. "Doctor, listen, I..." She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair, trying to think of way to say what she wanted to. "Doctor, I am _so sorry_. I know it's not fair of me to just show up out of nowhere and put you through this and then just _leave_ , and I—"

"It's all right," he said seriously, meeting her eyes again. "Really." His smile was soft and sad. "It's good to know you're happy." He chuckled quietly, looking at the floor, and Rose's heart ached. "Good to know I got one thing right."

The look on his face made her want to cry. She launched herself forward, flinging her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. For a moment the Doctor was still—and then suddenly he was clinging to her, pulling her up towards him, burying his face in her hair. His breathing was ragged in her ear and his fingers curled into fists around the fabric of her jacket. "Rose," he began, "Rose, I..." But his voice cracked and he fell quiet, his shoulders shaking under her hands as he fought to keep control. Rose swayed them gently back and forth, rubbing her hands up and down his back and desperately wishing she could do something more.

It wasn't fair that she'd have to leave him now when he needed her so badly.

Finally, with one last, shuddering breath, the Doctor pulled back, his eyes a touch redder than they usually were. "Sorry," he said, with a watery laugh.

Rose smiled, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket. "It's all right." Then something occurred to her, and she tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "Hold on. If the... you... that I met earlier was you in the future, how come he was surprised to see me? Shouldn't he remember?"

"Ah..." The Doctor scratched the back of his neck. "It's... complicated." He tugged on his ear. "When I meet myself I usually have to make myself forget until after I've met myself again." He scrunched up his nose. "Did that make any sense?"

Rose laughed, shaking her head. "Nope." But her grin faded. "So you won't... remember this? Any of it?"

The Doctor shook his head, looking rueful. "No. _Well_ , not until I'm him, anyway."

"Right." She nodded, but once again she found herself frustrated with the universe.

It was vastly unfair, she thought. Here was the Doctor, alone and miserable, and not only would she have to leave him, but he wouldn't even be allowed to remember she'd been here until it was too late to matter, until he was off and happy again, showing a young girl the stars and—

Hold on.

"So you won't... you won't remember what I tell you, yeah?"

"No." He sighed apologetically. "I'm sorry, Rose, but I—"

"You're not alone," she blurted out, and the Doctor blinked at her in surprise. "In the future, I mean. When I met him, he—he wasn't alone. He was travelling with someone. Amy, her name was. She was kind. She had ginger hair and this cute skirt and—"

The Doctor frowned. "Rose..."

"—and there was this woman, too, River, her name was, your friend or something, and—"

"Rose—"

"—and you're _happy_ , Doctor. Happier than now, at least." Her eyes were welling up but she smiled, grabbing his hands. "Don't you see? It gets _better_."

The Doctor looked down at their hands, nodding several times before he managed a, "Yeah." He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was suspiciously thick. "Thank you."

She swung their hands and smiled when he met her eyes. "Thank _you_." She blushed. "And, you know... sorry, in advance. For being difficult. In the future." She grinned, biting down on her bottom lip. "The bow tie's not so bad. It sort of... suits you."

The Doctor grinned at her, genuinely, and then he hugged her again, a short but affectionate squeeze. She hugged him back as tight as she could, and when they broke apart he was still smiling.

"Well," he said, "your husband's ankle ought to be better by now—rubbish bones, you humans have, by the way—and I've got a breach in time and space to close." He moved towards the doorway and motioned for her to follow, smiling over his shoulder. " _Allons-y_!"


	5. Collaboration Fic: The Long Way Home (5/5) Doctor/Rose

The Doctor was hopping up and down on his left foot when Rose and his Time Lord duplicate came back into the room. They both stared at him blankly, making the Doctor feel immensely silly.

"It... worked," he mumbled, pointing down at his ankle and then standing on both feet again.

Rose laughed, but the other Doctor shook his head and turned on his heel, gesturing them out of the room. "Come on then, you can help me land. The TARDIS is difficult to pilot in this universe, she can't get her bearings straight."

Rose turned to follow him, but the Doctor could hear the grin in her voice when she said, "Oh, is that the excuse, then?"

"Oi! Who just saved your husband's life _and_ spared you weeks of having to help him hobble around on crutches?"

Rose laughed again, and the Doctor trailed behind them, his hands shoved in his pockets. He knew he ought to be grateful—and he was, really—but there was something unsettling about having your life saved by your wife and a man she once loved. A man she still loved, probably.

He bowed his head, watching the grating pass beneath his trainers. Contrary to what the other Doctor seemed to think, he was still Time Lord enough to understand how time worked. If Rose had met a future regeneration first, she was part of the other Doctor's personal future timeline. If it was that future Doctor who'd taken her back to this one, it meant, unequivocally, that she couldn't stay with him, especially in light of the other Doctor's supposed impending regeneration. The Doctor was smart enough to know what that meant: he was Plan B.

Again.

Even after three years.

The TARDIS hummed sympathetically in his mind as the Doctor scowled at the floor. He'd always known Rose saw him as a substitute, but to have to face it like this—

He sighed quietly and Rose looked back at him, the smile on her face quickly replaced with a look of concern. "Doctor...? Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" He feigned confusion and then grinned broadly, nodding. "'Course I am, yeah. Never been better." He pointed down again. "Brand new ankle! Look at that. _And_ I get to fly the TARDIS again. It's brilliant."

Before she could object he moved around her, right behind the other Doctor as the three of them reached the console room. They moved to the console and flew the ship without speaking, weaving around each other with relative ease. The Doctor did his best to ignore the weight of Rose's stare as he focused on the fantastic sensation of flying the TARDIS one last time.

When the ship finally landed, they both stepped back from the console and shoved their hands in their pockets. There was a moment of awkward silence.

Then the other Doctor cleared his throat. "Right then. Last stop." He nodded towards the TARDIS doors.

Rose stepped forward, her eyes trained on his duplicate. "Thank you," she said emphatically, her voice thick. "Really. Thank you."

"Yeah," added the Doctor with a cough, and from the looks on both their faces he knew it startled them. "Thanks." He scratched the back of his neck. "And... you should really think about inviting someone along.”

The other Doctor looked at him and, for a minute, he thought the other man might launch into another rant about how he had no right to lecture him. But then he only said, "You're welcome." He quickly shifted his attention to Rose and smiled. "Rose Tyler." He raised his eyebrows. "You have a good life, you hear me?"

Rose nodded. "Yes sir." She bit her tongue and tilted her head, grinning. "I'll see you in a little while. _Well_ , you'll see me." She laughed. "You know what I mean. And—sorry. You know. In advance."

They both laughed, and the Doctor turned away, starting down the ramp to the TARDIS doors. He gave the big coral column one last, affectionate pat and then stepped outside while Rose and the other Doctor shared a lingering hug goodbye.

****

The door to their flat swung shut between them and Rose sneezed, waving a hand in front of her face. There was at least an inch of dust covering everything.

The Doctor moved forward into the flat, his shoes leaving an imprint on the floor. Clear plastic encased all their furniture and the blinds were pulled shut over the windows. It felt like they'd just stepped into a cave.

"Blimey, it feels like no one has lived here in months," he said. He sniffed the air and then immediately regretted it, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand to try and get rid of the prickly sensation. Then he glanced at Rose. She looked stricken. "What?" he said automatically. "What's wrong?"

"I'll have to call Mum," she said in a small voice, "let her know that I came back."

"Oh?"

Her eyes jumped over to his, wide and reluctant. "But we're home, yeah?" She tried for a smile. “That’s all that matters.”

He stared at her, feeling something inside of him snap. "Rose, do you want to tell me what's going on? There I am, seconds away from death, and you pop in from out of nowhere—in the _TARDIS_."

She said nothing, only moved past him and pulled one of the plastic sheets off the sofa before taking a seat, pressing her hands between her knees.

"Why did you rebuild the dimension cannon, _really_?" he pressed. "'Cos it wasn't to rescue me, was it? No, that was his idea, not yours. You built it so you could go back—to _him_."

Rose buried her head in her hands. "It wasn't like that."

"How long was I even gone for?"

"A few weeks," Rose whispered.

"A few _weeks_?" He laughed bitterly. "Oh, so you hung around for the funeral, then? How nice, it's good to know how much you ca—" He trailed off because Rose's shoulders began to shake and then she choked out a sob. He swallowed hard. "Rose?"

She shook her head and then began to cry in earnest, still hiding behind her hands. Some of his annoyance was replaced with concern. "Rose," he repeated, more gently. He bent down in front of her, one hand touching her shoulder. "All right, it's all right."

And then she was in his arms, gripping him tightly by the lapels of his jacket as she sobbed into his chest. He brushed a hand over her hair and then down her back, holding her silently.

"I—I didn't know I could," she choked out, her voice muffled by his shirt and her sobs. "I didn't even think—after what happened, with my dad, I thought—I didn't think it was possible, I thought—if I'd _known_ —of _course_ I would've—"

She broke off, her voice lost in a series of hiccoughing sobs. The Doctor ran one hand up and down her back, waiting for her sobs to dissipate.

Then she pounded one hand against his chest, "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again,” she practically yelled. “Don't you _dare_."

"I'm sorry, I—"

" _Promise_ me," she said, looking at him, face tear stained and desperate. "I can't go through that again, Doctor. I just... I _can't_."

And then she slumped against him, sobs tapering off as she took several deep breaths, pressing her wet face against his shoulder.

"I won't," he said sincerely, guilt crashing into him. He could feel her hurt and exhaustion radiating off her. As far as he remembered, he had woken up next to Rose just yesterday—smiling and warm and content. But it had been months for her.

"I didn't know what else to do," she finally said, voice thick with her tears. "Everything felt so empty—and then I thought—I thought that maybe if I found you, the other you... maybe I wouldn't feel so alone."

He felt a lump gather in his throat. "And?"

She closed her eyes, now sounding drowsy, “It was all a bit wrong,” she said. “You’d— _he’d_ regenerated and moved on, and it was just... different.”

Some of his earlier irritation came back and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Good different?”

“Bad different,” she said immediately before blushing. “No, that’s not fair. He wanted to help, he did, but it wasn’t the same. Even after I found..." She waved one hand, searching for the right phrase. "...the other you, it wasn't right. He wasn't... it wasn't like what we have.”

The Doctor couldn’t stop his fond smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rose said, giving him a squeeze. “And I’m not sorry that I did it, either. Got you back, didn’t I?”

He drew back and gazed down at her. Rose’s sincere gaze met his and the last of his indignation seemed to melt away. Suddenly he could see how hard the last few weeks had been on her—from the sharp set of her shoulders, to the black circles under her eyes, to the way she felt like skin and bones in his arms. She was emotionally and physically exhausted, clinging to him so tightly it was almost as if she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand up if she let go.

He touched her side, fingers brushing against the indentation of the gun under her jacket.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, drawing his hand back. He swallowed. “I’m so sorry I put you through that.”

She pressed her forehead against his, drawing in a sharp breath like she might start crying again. Then her arms wound around his neck and, almost trembling, her lips pressed against his, tentative at first before she grew more desperate. She leaned into him, her kisses surprisingly forceful and urgent for someone on the brink of an emotional collapse.

He kissed her back, hands pressing against her back before he pulled away. “Rose—” he stammered, fighting to draw in a breath, “you need food and a rest and—”

But she had that _look_ in her eyes, the one that said the only thing on her mind was jumping him and dragging him back to the bedroom. He shut his mouth and leaned in to kiss her again. He had never been good at ignoring that look.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” Rose said. She grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom, unzipping her jacket as she went. “Believe me when I say that food and sleep can wait.” Inside the bedroom, she unhooked her gun and set it on the chest of drawers before tearing the plastic sheet off their bed. The Doctor followed, his arms going around her as soon as she turned around.

“Hello,” he said, nose nuzzling against hers.

“Hi,” Rose said with a smile so wide that it momentarily overshadowed the dark circles under her eyes. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” she whispered.

“Ooh, I’ve got an idea,” he said, manoeuvring her backwards until she hit the side of the bed. She sank back on the bed, pulling him on top of her. He held up his hands, squinting at the space between them. “This much.”

“That much,” Rose confirmed, arms winding around his neck and lips pressing against his. His hands moved down her body, touching her sides while Rose wiggled underneath him and then started to laugh.

She’d always been a little ticklish.

“I love you, too,” he said into her ear.

She turned her head, lips pressing against the underside of his chin. “I know,” she murmured.

***

The Doctor squinted into the bright sunlight, shutting the TARDIS door behind him. His older self was already waiting for him, idly tapping his foot as if to make it clear how much he hated being made to wait.

The Doctor took his time approaching his other self, one hand coming up to shield his eyes from the worst of the sun’s glare. “Hello,” he finally said, coming to a stop in front of his future self.

The other Doctor tugged on his bow-tie, somehow managing to look both irritated and patronizing. “You’re alone.”

“Well-spotted,” said the Doctor dryly. “Rose is back home.”

“Oh?”

“With him.”

“Naturally,” said his other self, now looking at him like he was a young pupil learning to tie his shoelaces for the first time. “I take it that you never stopped to consider just how dangerous it would be to travel to another universe and muck about in someone else’s timeline?”

The Doctor shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets, unfazed by his older self’s disapproval. “It was Rose,” he said simply, like that was all the explanation needed.

And since he was talking to himself, he figured it probably was.

He didn’t have to add that he would have done nearly anything for the sake of Rose’s happiness. He'd known something was wrong from the first moment his older self had showed up out of the blue. The other Doctor's explanation had been brief—Rose was back, she was devastated, and his older self didn’t know how to help her. And then she had been standing in front of him, face thin and blotchy, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She’d been in his arms a moment later, gripping him tightly like she thought he might disappear at any second. _Anything_ , he’d thought at the time, his mind already busy thinking up ways he could make it better.

The thoughts were more jumbled after that. Rose had been back in the TARDIS and sleeping in her old bed—“He loved me,” she’d said and he’d replied, “Of course he had,” because he knew better than anyone else just how much, didn’t he?—and then, sitting down to breakfast, it would have been so easy to defy the laws of time and space again and keep her for himself. But he hadn’t entertained that particular thought for long. Rose wanted her husband back and he didn’t want to be a dead man’s replacement.

His other self watched him quietly, perhaps indulging in similar thoughts himself—or perhaps not. _He doesn’t love me,_ Rose had said, but the Doctor wasn’t _quite_ sure that was true. It was a different sort of love, but the Doctor had no doubt his future self would be just as comforted by the knowledge that Rose was happy.

Finally, his other self raised his arms, taking a few steps closer. The Doctor instinctively flinched—he hadn’t stopped to consider just how _painful_ it would be to lose his memories after Donna.

His future self looked sympathetic. “I’m not taking it all,” he said, “just the last few days. Just Rose’s reappearance.”

“Oh, I’d say that’s a bit more than ‘just,’” the Doctor grumbled, but he breathed in deeply. There was no way around it—Rose’s sudden appearance had brought with it far too much information about his own personal timeline. He had to forget.

“Think of it this way, Doctor,” said his older self, with only a hint of his previous smugness. “You’ll get them back one day. Something to look forward to, eh?”

“It'd help if I _remembered_ what I was looking forward to,” the Doctor said, but this time he didn’t flinch when his other self raised his hands. His fingers pressed against the Doctor’s temples and he stayed still, keeping his face as stoic as possible.

Finally, his other self pulled away, hint of a smile on his lips. “You’ll start forgetting once you’re in the TARDIS. Instead you’ll remember naming a galaxy ‘Alison.’”

“Hmm,” said the Doctor thoughtfully, “good name for a galaxy.”

“It is a very good name for a galaxy,” agreed his other self. “In fact, I should consider doing so for real one of these days.” Then he sobered. “Good luck, Doctor.”

“Blimey, that’s comforting to hear when someone knows your future timeline,” said the Doctor. He turned back to his TARDIS but paused, a far too familiar fear rising up in his chest. It was useless to ask when he wouldn't even remember, but...

He turned his head so he could just see the other man. "How long have I got?" he asked quietly. "And will..." He swallowed, aware that despite his best efforts it came out sounding like he was a scared little boy. "Will I be alone?"

The other Doctor only raised his eyebrows. "Spoilers," was all he said, and the Doctor thought he heard a great deal of pity in his voice.

The response wasn't entirely a surprise, but the Doctor still winced. "Oh, I hate that word." But he nodded and turned away again, squaring his shoulders. "Right. Guess I've got a galaxy to imagine I've named." He gave the other Doctor a curt wave over his shoulder and started towards his TARDIS but stopped short outside the doors. For the first time, he was scared of what might happen after he stepped through them. He didn't want to forget.

He didn't want to die, either.

"Rose was right, you know," the other Doctor called. "It gets better."

The Doctor ran his hand along the edge of the TARDIS, studying the faded blue paint and wondering how long it would be until it was replaced. He nodded, wishing that promised happiness didn't feel like it was on the other side of a vast, indomitable chasm. "Yeah," he said, and then, much more quietly, "I hope so." With a deep breath, he pushed open the doors and stepped back into the TARDIS.

The door swung shut behind him and his thoughts briefly drifted back to what it had been like, lying in bed with Rose Tyler curled in his arms, her breaths puffing against his neck. But as his eyes swept over the console, he found it strange to be having such a vivid fantasy.

Pushing the image from his mind, he tossed his coat over the hook behind him and then headed to the console. Alison, he decided, as he pulled up on a lever, really _was_ a brilliant name for a galaxy.

****

The door to the TARDIS squeaked shut behind him and the Doctor bounded across the console room, over to where Amy stood by the vidscreen, her arms folded.

"'Stay here'?" she asked, lowering her voice in rather inaccurate parody of his own. "You're not making a habit of that."

The tone of her voice and the tilt of her head reminded him so much of another ginger he'd travelled with once upon a time that the Doctor only grinned.

“Doctor. Really. That man in the suit." She pointed at the vidscreen, though there was nothing the least bit interesting on the screen now. "Who was he?” He could sense her studying his profile. “And that girl—what was her name?”

“Rose,” he said softly. The memories were beginning to filter back to him. They felt like more of a gift now than a burden. It was a comfort to know for certain that somewhere out there she was living their happy ending. “She liked your skirt.”

Amy instinctively looked down, though she'd since changed into a pair of shorts. "Wha..." She narrowed her eyes, evidently deciding he was trying to throw her off course. "And that man. Why couldn't I meet him? What am I gonna do, embarrass you in front of your friends?"

"No, that's River's job." He looked at her and grinned. "Actually, I'm certain he'd quite like you. But don't worry, he'll meet you soon enough."

Amy was still staring at him oddly. “You’re not making any sense.”

He waved a hand. “Time traveller,” he explained. “My life doesn’t always happen in a straight line.” He raised his eyebrows. "Can get confusing, though. You wouldn't believe the first time I met River."

"I was _there_!"

The Doctor shrugged evasively.

“Seriously, though,” Amy went on, “who was he? And where did Rose go?”

The Doctor rounded the console, gesturing with his hands as he went. “ _He_ is a bit too young, a little too rash, far too full of himself,” he said, pushing buttons and pulling up levers as he moved, “and so stupidly in love that he would tear apart the walls of the universe for the happiness of one human girl.” He paused. “But he did have some great hair.”

Amy huffed out a sigh and then rolled her eyes. “I dunno why I even bother asking.”

“He turns out all right in the end, though, if I do say so myself,” continued the Doctor, with a bit of a smirk. He rounded the console and nudged Amy in the arm. “Onwards and upwards?”

Amy returned his grin. “Finally you’re making sense.”


End file.
